


Together They Mourn

by lilmione (serena43)



Series: How a Moment Lasts Forever [2]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, More angst, he's still dead, i'll write non-dead fic someday, mostly canon through 8x06, still coping, tyrion is still my mouthpiece
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 00:48:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18981775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serena43/pseuds/lilmione
Summary: Tyrion and Brienne discuss the man they both loved and lost.





	Together They Mourn

**Author's Note:**

> More of Tyrion as my mouthpiece. He should be accustomed to it after the show used him this way so terribly in 8x06. Still too shippy to ever really be canon. But also *needed* in some canon capacity to fix the royal mess they left us with. I didn't intend for it to happen before Brienne writes in the White Book, but it fits nicely as something that *could* have happened to trigger that entry.

Dismissing the small council for the day is a small mercy. Even the sight of Bronn’s face is starting to grate on Tyrion and he can’t remember when he stopped listening to either Sam or Davos. Regrettably the only person who still holds any interest for him is Brienne of Tarth, even with her ever present stoic demeanor but his interest mostly stems from dread. The conversation he’s about to initiate is long over due and even though he cannot argue its necessity, he still finds himself, even now at the brink of it, reluctant to begin. He pitches his voice over the cacophony of chairs scraping across the floor.

“Ser Brienne? Might I have a word?”

The lady knight’s shoulders stiffen as Tyrion calls out her name, but she turns nevertheless while the others rise from their chairs and begin exiting the small council, engaged in their own private conversations. Only Bronn looks back with a hint of interest but Tyrion is too occupied in staring down Brienne to give him the silent admonishment he deserves. Brienne’s features are still set in her usual strict mask of duty as she returns Tyrion’s stare and gives a reluctant nod. Resignation settles about her shoulders and her thumb drifts toward Oathkeeper. Tyrion’s gaze follows the motion and her thumb halts, the resignation seeping from her shoulders into the rest of her body and he suppresses a sigh.

This isn’t the first time he’s tried to start this conversation. Usually she finds some excuse to avoid him; sometimes on her own, sometimes enlisting Pod, sometimes by simply pretending she hasn’t heard or seen him and leaving the room before his vastly shorter legs have a chance to catch up. He thinks _she_ tried to seek him out when she first came, only then the pain was too fresh for _him_ , the wound too raw. She’s had more time to adjust life without his brother, knowing he was lost to her the moment the idiot rode out of Winterfell. Sometimes Tyrion consoles himself Jaime would have found his way to ruin even if he hadn’t been the one to give him the key. And then he sees Brienne of Tarth and knows it for half a lie. But now he thinks enough time has passed they can bear to speak of him to each other. Even if they can’t…they _need_ to. _I told him I would. He didn’t want me to, not entirely, but I told him I would._ Jaime’s face as he last saw it in the tent, naked with emotion for the woman standing before him, flickers before his eyes and Tyrion clears his throat.

“What is it?” Brienne asks, her traitorous thumb drifting once again toward Oathkeeper.

Tyrion wonders if she will ever entirely rid herself of the habit before giving himself a mental shake and responding,

“We’ve never spoken. About my brother.”

Brienne stiffens, her entire body taking on such a sense of rigidity, Tyrion fears even the slightest touch will shatter her into pieces.

“There’s nothing to say. He died with your sister. As he believed he was meant to.”

Tyrion marvels at her lack of emotion. There’s not even a flicker in her features, a tremor in her voice, a suggestion the words secretly wounded her as she uttered them. He peers up at her, searching for a crack, a fissure he can follow to wherever she’s buried her feelings for his brother.

“He believed that, yes. Gods know why. I tried to talk him out of it but…”

“Not very hard, I imagine.”

For a moment Tyrion is taken aback and then his lips twitch as if to smile. He should have expected no less from a woman who had caught Jaime’s attention long enough to distract him from Cersei. Even if it had only been temporary.

“Even if I had pleaded, do you think he would have listened?”

There. Something flickers across her features, so swiftly he would have thought he imagined it except for a faint glimmer in her eyes that vanishes almost as quickly.

“I did try, Ser Brienne,” he adds.

Her gaze runs along his diminutive frame and she nods.

“Is that all, Lord Tyrion?”

_No. And you know it_. A grudging admiration builds within him, watching her try to get out of the conversation, even when she knows there’s little chance of it. Her thumb drifts toward Oathkeeper for a third time and he has a perverse desire to make her give in to the comfort of stroking it.

“The last time I spoke to my brother,” he pauses, suddenly struck by the observation that even _he_ can’t bear to say his name. “He wanted me to…” Tyrion pauses again, so haunted by the memory of Jaime’s conflicted expression he almost misses the spasm Brienne can’t keep from her face, and he takes another breath before continuing, “He didn’t regret his time with you.”

Brienne’s eyes widen and Tyrion’s desire is fulfilled when her fingers curl around Oathkeeper to grasp the sword so tightly, it might be the only thing keeping her upright. Tyrion registers the motion but his gaze remains on Brienne. He barely knows her and even what he does know are facts. Brienne of Tarth, a knight of the sev— _six_ kingdoms, Lord Commander. This is what he knows and he still can see she’s teetering on the edge, torn between believing him and whatever damage Jaime wrought upon her when he left her at Winterfell.

“Is that all?”

Brienne repeats herself and astonishment creeps its way across Tyrion’s features as he stares at her. All that teetering and she righted herself in the end. Strong woman. Too mistrustful of his intentions. Not wrongly. He imagines the last conversation she had with a Lannister has made her skeptical of the truth in any subsequent conversations with one and rightly so.

“That doesn’t mean anything to you?”

She opens her mouth but nothing comes out and Tyrion feels as if he is back in the tent with Jaime, wrenching words that shouldn’t need to be pried free when the emotion behind them was obvious for all to see. Not so obvious in Brienne’s case, as with Jaime’s, but her lack of emotion is just as damning in its own way.

“I appreciate your telling me this, Lord Tyrion, but it really makes no difference. If you will excuse me.”

He lets her brush past him. He has no choice, given the relation of his size to hers, but he allows himself the delusion. He waits until she’s almost to the door, her freedom within reach, before he adds,

“He loved you.”

Brienne halts so abruptly Tyrion marvels she doesn’t cry out with pain, but she doesn’t turn to look at him. Reminded of Jaime’s fascination with everything in the tent that wasn’t his little brother, Tyrion takes a step toward Brienne.

“I know he did. Whether or not he ever told you—”

“He did, actually.”

The words are spoken so softly, Tyrion almost doesn’t hear them. Brienne’s shoulders sag but she still doesn’t turn to look at him, for all intensive purposes conversing with the door when she continues,

“He didn’t know it. He thought I was asleep. It makes no difference.”

“Of course it does. You loved him, too.”

The tension returns to her shoulders but she makes no move to leave, a fact Tyrion finds more and more intriguing as the moments lengthen.

“You still love him.”

Brienne emits a choked sound of denial but Tyrion no more believes it than he believed Jaime’s protests. Brienne is still rooted in place and Tyrion takes another cautious step toward her.

“It isn’t wrong to love him.”

The choked sound of denial escapes her a second time and Tyrion’s steps continue until he is close enough to touch her if he dares. He doesn’t. Not yet.

“I still love him, too.”

Her shoulders sag but she still doesn’t turn to face him.

“We’re the only two people in Westeros who will ever mourn him, who know there’s something to mourn. I thought we might be of some comfort to each other. Both of us still loving Jaime.”

He’s never certain who cried first or if it was his utterance of Jaime’s name that tipped them both, he only remembers stumbling toward Brienne at the same moment she turns and sinks to the floor to receive him and they collapse in each other’s arms, sobbing with the loss of the man they both loved. Tyrion has had many reasons to hate Cersei over the years but he has never hated her more than in this moment. _Cersei didn’t make Jaime weak,_ a voice protests, but she was responsible for the worst parts of his brother and Tyrion will never forgive her that. Brienne releases him first, drawing herself up to her immense height (in comparison) and taking a moment to compose her features back into the dutiful lines Tyrion is more familiar with. He takes a moment to compose himself as well, wiping away the tears he didn’t think he had left to shed and inhaling deeply. Brienne’s thumb is freely roving over Oathkeeper now but warmth lingers in her gaze as she looks down at him. _Her eyes really are quite astonishing_ , Tyrion thinks, unaware of his brother’s similar sentiment.

“If it pleases you, Lord Tyrion, we could speak of Ser Jaime now and again. I know little of what he was like…before…”

“Most stories I tell will undoubtedly include Cersei,” Tyrion is compelled to warn her. Brienne shakes her head.

“I wouldn’t expect anything else. She’s part of him. She always was. She always will be.”

Tyrion’s brows arch as he reassesses her, not realizing until this very moment how much Brienne of Tarth _understood_ his brother. Even the worst parts of him.

“And in return, you will tell me of your adventures before he sent you off with my former squire.”

Brienne’s lips flirt with a smile but ultimately remain in a straight line before she replies,

“There isn’t much to tell.”

“Come now, what could be more thrilling than the tale of the bear and the maiden fair?”

A faint blush stains her cheeks and she averts her gaze. _This one will be fun to tease_. The appeal she held for Jaime is becoming clearer to Tyrion with every second he spends in her company and he wishes futilely for more evenings like the one they spent after the battle with the dead, though not always ending with him being an ass. They’d needed the push. Both of them. Even if it had been clumsy.

“I fear you will be disappointed.”

“Nonsense. When you run out, perhaps you can tell me of your time together in Winterfell instead.”

 All of the color drains from her features and he is reminded so strongly of Jaime again, Tyrion wonders if he will ever be able to separate the two from now on. It’s almost comical, their separate yet identical _dramatic_ reactions to anyone daring to openly discuss their relationship. What transpired during that idyll in Winterfell that neither of them seems able to define it afterwards? He wants to know. Brienne opens her mouth to refuse him but Tyrion reaches out and touches her arm lightly.

“Forgive me, Ser Brienne. Some things should remain private. But my brother…Jaime…” _Why is it so difficult to say his name?!_ Tyrion takes a breath and starts again. “I’ve never seen him so happy as he was at Winterfell. With you. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen Jaime _happy_ before.”

Tyrion stares off into the distance, sorting through a lifetime of memories, most of them unpleasant or colored by wine. He remembers fleeting glimpses, spurts of laughter, but none so clear or so bright as his brother had been in the company of Brienne of Tarth. Brienne’s attention gradually penetrates through his reminisces and he realizes she is staring at him as if his words, rather than Oathkeeper, are now the only thing keeping her upright. However Jaime uttered the sentiment, it must have been unconvincing for she either desperately wants or _needs_ Tyrion to confirm it. Or maybe Jaime _was_ convincing but she still couldn’t bring herself to believe it. Oh that push was still deserved. He is suddenly glad he came so late to their love affair or their prolonged reluctance for consummation would have driven him mad.

“It’s how I knew,” Tyrion adds unnecessarily, more to clear the memories swirling in his mind than to reassure her. Part of him is still in the past, reliving the bittersweet history with his siblings and Brienne’s attention decreases a fraction.

“You knew because Jaime was happy,” she repeats.

Something inside Tyrion catches and dies at the way she utters his name and he manages to swallow back his initial retort.

“It was such an astonishing thing.” Brienne gapes at him for a moment and then a strangled laugh escapes her. “If only he’d believed he deserved it.”

 Brienne starts, her eyes widening as she stares at Tyrion without seeing him while she reviews and revises whatever passed between them in their final moments. Clarity returns to her gaze and she inhales sharply before turning away from him, but not before Tyrion glimpses the trembling of her lower lip.

  _Ah. The lie was known but still easier to believe than the truth_.

Tyrion looks away to give Brienne a semblance of privacy as she struggles to contain her emotions in his presence. He thinks he catches a muttered curse or two paired with Jaime’s name. Perhaps he was mistaken in his estimation of Jaime’s emotions that night in the tent. Perhaps it wasn’t that Jaime didn’t love Brienne enough—he _had_ —but he’d hated himself more. Of all the potential fates for the Lannisters throughout this wretched war, he wouldn’t have predicted Jaime’s to be the most tragic. He would have saved that honor for himself, naturally, but Jaime has one-upped him, even in the grave. Tyrion almost— _almost—_ smiles and he realizes it’s one of the first times since losing Jaime that he’s thought of his brother without pain. It will never really leave him, the pain of losing Jaime, but it might become bearable faster…as long as he remains with Brienne.

Emotions contained, she revolves to face him and Tyrion senses a lightness about her that wasn’t there before, as if his confirmation has lifted some invisible weight she’s been carrying around since Jaime left. Sadness remains in her eyes, even if it’s tinged a little differently, but he thinks, he hopes, she _knows_ how much she meant to his brother.

“Forgive me, Lord Tyrion, but I really must return to my duties.”

She gives him a nod and a wobbly sort of smile and astonishment trickles through Tyrion. It’s a tentative offering, fragile and uncertain, but he’s done enough to convince her some relief can be found in remembering Jaime together. _We need to keep him alive. Every way we can._ Tyrion nods in return, the role of diplomat slipping over him easily as he gestures toward the door.

“Of course. I’m sorry to have kept you. We will dine tomorrow.”

Her smile wobbles and fades but he has no intention of taking no for an answer. This evening is too soon to go through this exquisite agony again but farther than tomorrow would be too long—they would both concoct means to get out of it and they cannot get out of this. They are in it together, this loving and missing Jaime, and he’s not about to let her shirk her duties. Brienne’s gaze narrows but he throws her his politician’s smile and adds, “Bring Pod. I will look forward to the tale of the bear and the maiden fair.”

“You will be disappointed,” Brienne repeats.

“Oh I very much doubt it. Tomorrow.”

He fixes her with a stare, allowing himself the delusion that the ghost of his brother stands beside him, his expression the familiar mixture of challenge and persuasion Tyrion had seen him cast at Brienne more than once. She inhales and he has the uncanny sensation she saw the same vision and he sees his victory in the subsequent slump of her shoulders before she confirms it verbally.

“Tomorrow.”

“Good.”

Suspicion creeps back into her expression, as if her distrust in Lannisters has returned and Tyrion does his best to radiate sincerity. After a lengthy moment, Brienne gives up, exasperation replacing the suspicion in her features, and Tyrion smothers his smile. No doubt Jaime would have found this interaction highly amusing, the two of them struggling against their common ground. He can almost hear Jaime’s laughter from beyond the grave and reminds himself the room is decidedly silent. Brienne opens the door but hesitates before stepping out in the hallway, her grip tightening on the handle.

“Lord Tyrion? Do you know if…did he know that I…”

She cannot finish as a vivid red stain spreads across her cheeks and Tyrion’s chest tightens so unbearably, he isn’t certain how he will continue breathing. There is only one answer he can give.

“It was the only thing he never argued.”

 Brienne’s eyes widen yet again, paired with the now familiar wobble of her lower lip, but then something happens Tyrion does not expect. She smiles. A real, genuine smile, not as radiant as when Jaime knighted her or that night in Winterfell’s banquet hall, but a true smile nevertheless. _How could he have ever doubted it_? Tyrion doesn’t say it. Jaime had—initially—or the push wouldn’t have been needed but not in the end. No. In the end he knew it with utter certainty. And that certainty only deepened his conviction he did not deserve it. This, too, he will never tell her. She may already know. If not now, then someday…perhaps…but he will not take this last moment of joy in Jaime from her. He only wishes there was another life, another end, where a future together was not denied them. Where they could spend the rest of their days together, on Tarth if not Casterly Rock, away from the political poison of King’s Landing. Gods knew they deserved it. He even imagines himself there, as frequent a visitor as his duties will allow and curses fate anew for robbing all of them of it. It’s Cersei’s laughter he hears this time, incredulous that he could conceive even for a moment such an ending was possible as long as she existed. He cannot quite bring himself to believe in the non-existence of an afterlife as relayed by Jon Snow. He needs there to be one if only to give his sister (and father) a second reckoning. She deserves that—and more. If not for all her other atrocities, then for Jaime alone.

“Tomorrow,” Brienne confirms, bringing him back to the present.

Tyrion starts, then nods, and she returns the gesture before striding into the hallway. Tyrion closes the door behind her and slowly makes his way back to the table. His heart has lightened a fraction with this conversation and while he is looking forward to further lessening of his pain alongside Brienne, in this moment, he can’t help but succumb to the reason for it. His is a world without Jaime Lannister. And he must find a way to live in it.


End file.
